


false idolization (of many a god)

by xoxo_theseburdens



Series: and they'll break your pride [1]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood Drinking, Childhood Trauma, Cults, Gen, Graphic Description of Corpses, Heavy Angst, Human Sacrifice, Hybrid Jschlatt (Video Blogging RPF), Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Jschlatt Angst (Video Blogging RPF), Loss of Virginity, Men Crying, Non-Consensual Body Modification, On the Run, Other, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Sexual Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Psychological Trauma, Religious Cults, Rituals, Self-Harm, Whump, Wilbur Soot and Technoblade and TommyInnit are Siblings, Worship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-15 20:33:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29564763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xoxo_theseburdens/pseuds/xoxo_theseburdens
Summary: he was born into a cult, he fled to the outside, they took him back//a man with ram horns trekked slowly, mind foggy with glee.. he could breathe again
Relationships: Jschlatt & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Jschlatt & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Jschlatt & Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit, TommyInnit & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot & Technoblade, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson
Series: and they'll break your pride [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2171988
Comments: 4
Kudos: 43





	1. an informal introduction

**Author's Note:**

> all of this work is fictional and based off the personas made by the ccs! this story will be heavily themed, revolving around my au, and will contain extremely dark content - you have been warned

His feet thundered picking up pieces of gravel between his shoes, he felt fucking dizzy beyond no belief. Where was his next stop supposed to be? Avoid bus stops, anything that held a fraction of illuminating light. Run _faster_. Pale wood, brick roof, **freedom**. Thick roots tripped him and tumbling down he went, chin hitting the concrete paved in front of someone's house. Black engulfed his vision numbing his already tired bones. _Relief_.

Wilbur's thin frame hogged a majority of the light gray couch, arm behind his head as he flicked through channels portraying nothing of remote interest. He shifted himself to gain more comfort, pulling a stalky leg closer to his chest. A thud from outside the house startled him, shaking him from his trance of boredom. So much for a peaceful evening. His joints cracked in displeasure from having been in one position for too long, Wilbur groaning as he padded loudly. Opening the front door he stuck his head out, giving a glance before mumbling a "what the shit"; 99.9% of his being wanted far away from cold wisps nipping at his ungloved hands. 0.01% forced Wilbur to look more than just left and right, tired brain complying with these actions. He pulled out a phone, 'come back immediately' shot through his messages to another person.

Most days Phil came home he had no worries on his back and a cool drink in his hand, this day however proved to be different. Directly below his feet laid a man, who's body looked horrendous and pretty dirty. White cloth adorned his body giving an ethereal look to him, as if he were a serpentine angel gifted to them. "Do you know him by any chance?" Phil asked his second-born, arms crossed over his chest.

"Not in the slightest. If I did I would be a lot more frantic than this," Wilbur had a point, although he was not an overly-sympathetic person the young adult truly cared for those in his life. Brief pause hung amongst parent and child. "Help me carry him to the couch?"

Wounds were mend, split chin sewed back together, shoulder popped back into place. Philza greeted his oldest and youngest studying their facial expressions. Uncanny, he would describe it, attributes of great shock split between them towards the stranger buried thickly under their old blankets. His face plucked in a grimace, head wildly flipping in his slumber. Tommy walked forward, hand outstretched only to be swat at. "Ow! Heyyy," He whined, arms swinging to hit Techno (unamused, took a step or two back). "Should we wake him up?"

Sighing Wilbur poked his head from cooking, eyes narrowed dangerously at the blonde, "No Tommy. Don't give him an early death via heart attack, we still have to question his motives for being here, right Phil?"

"Th- that's not..," Hands scrubbed against face, hoping to push away quite literally anything from the muddled hole in the back of his mind. "We're only going to ask his name and where he came from. Not a full-frontal investigation dib-shit,"

Moans came from the couch, hands gripping soft fabric as light bled perfectly. Soon turning to cries, begging, pleading voice raising up an octave movements becoming still. Attention landing on him (they looked on in varying emotions), his body shaking hard as he gags "NO! _**NO**_!" - Damp, a washcloth by chance, lands on his forehead, barely missing his deformed, jagged horns. Deafening buzz collected, compacting in his fuzzy brain, one eye slowly cracking open, poorly blended colors above him. "...how many... of her... limbs are left, Riot?"


	2. what do you mean by bones?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> be careful of this chapter! hints of mutilation, human sacrifice, and a ptsd episode are contained here

Splotches of yellow, gold, and red dotted his vision, arms splayed across his chest. His head swam as if there was an aquarium lodged inside, throat dry and scratchy. Where the hell was he at? Disorient the man sat up, rubbing his knuckles over tired eyes, tears falling out as he yawned. "Morning there princess, you've been out a while,"

"Who are-," He swallowed the oncoming urge to cough, nails clasping along fragile skin, _not now_. "Who are you? Where am I?"

Brown, light brown taints his eyesight clogging his already poor vision. "Oh.., well I'm Wilbur. At the moment? You're here at our father's house -- our house I should say. What's your name, stranger?" Tantalizing, an insight so bountiful he may never come across it again, its... openly dangerous. Cat and mouse, one activity he is quite skilled at playing, an investigation of sorts. "Name's Schlatt,"

"Say Mr. Schlatt," Young, irritating grates his skull making him wince. "Why were you talking about ' _her limbs_ '? What did you mean by ' _how many more_ '?"

Dry, as if cactuses bloomed in his vocal cords stealing any remaining urge to speak. Pungent odors sculpting vague images in the back of his mind, hadn't he turned-tail? Fled from decaying people submerged in chalky waters? Kneeled by the painted body, drained of blood to use as an offering? Many a men groveled at his feet bestowing valuables: pleasure and torment, limbs of the old, of the new, of the damned. Jschlatt clapped a hand over his mouth, chest heaving as if someone had bashed a stone between his ribs.

And maybe they had embedded his fervent heart, tore apart what reminded hiding within his chest cavity. Though mutely he swore his organ continued to drum along at its own untamed rhythm. Why did he have to cower away from his problems? _**Your issues, hah! All you had to do was finish her, remove unneeded meat from her arms for**_ **Him**. Fuck, his thoughts were oh so right. Painfully his body convulsed forward, thoughts going faster than he could process and organize; cold floor embracing him without a mere warning. There was once a time when his mother held him, her touches less numbing then the old tile beneath him.

"-Chlatt! Schlatt!" Said hybrid raised his head, clipped ram ears twitching. Momentarily he swore he heard his father's voice beckoning child him to partake in a Friday night game of poker. Rather than a man clad in overalls, beard scraggily in no attempt to shave it, a young adult stood-- Wilbur. "Dude, dude are you okay? You fuckin' spaced out, was scary as hell!"

"...M'okay man. Don't... don't worry," Tiredness consumed his formidable bones, but he fought the urge to rest once more. "...I... could you not ask those kind of questions, please? It... just don't do it," Wilbur shot a nasty glare towards a blonde, he assumes the one from earlier. "Of course, of course. Would you like anything to eat? I've noticed you're a tad frail,"

Oh what an offer, his eyes brightening at the thought, he could not remember when he last ate. "..Er..sure I suppose. Won't kill me, right?" He bemused, though genuinely worried beneath the restless humor. "..No people, nothin' right?"

"Not that I can think of, no people"

"Good,"


End file.
